Stepping into that club was like being thrown into rapids. There was sound coming from every direction; it was recognizably music, but unlike any I’d heard before, comprised of blips and whirs, big distorted washes and high, pointillistic chiming. Except it wasn’t really the content of the music that was weird about it; it was the way it had like seven or eight sound sources, all which moved around as you walked through the foyer.

Jorg leaned over to Klia. “Oh, so this is the place. Can see why you chose it now.” She laughed it off. Iannik and Thuli were swiveling around trying to get a sense of where the sound was coming from, while Junae was unfazed. Jorg turned to us. “Klia’s being a bit of a showoff. This was a side gig she did a few years back. With the elders’ permission, of course. Whole building’s a sort of sonic art piece.”

I can’t lie, I was impressed. We took our seats; despite sitting with us, Jorg and Klia requested a table as well a booth a few paces away from it. We were situated on a balcony overlooking a stage with dancers; they were moving slowly, curling themselves into contrived positions that might’ve had something to do with the music if I had been hearing the same thing they were hearing. But the sound sources, which I assumed were the points of contact of a thousand separate spells, kept moving around, so it was hard to tell.

“So, how’s it work? The music,” I dared ask as soon as we were situated.

Jorg smiled. “No, no, don’t encourage her.”

“Well,” Klia began, “each sound source originates from a different spell.” So I was right, I figured. “And each spell’s point of contact is moving on a semi-random path through the building. Each spell picks up and puts effects on the sound around it, so the spell itself isn’t actually generating any sound, only processing it.”

“Oh!” I interjected. “That’s like what I used to do back in Derdian.”

“Before you were dragged here,” Thuli volunteered.

“Yeah. I used to make these custom effects pedals for magical guitars.”

Iannik snorted. “Magic guitars?”

“Yeah,” Thuli confirmed. “They’re a thing. They cost a ton but they’re convenient as hell. Or so I’ve heard. I don’t play, myself.”

“Hm,” he conceded.

“So, Raena,” Klia started, “what was the process of that like? I can make a pretty good guess but I imagine you didn’t have many resources at your disposal, as limited as those tablets are, the ones they’re giving out for nonessential purposes these days.”

I gave her the run-down of what it was like to put a pedal together. Iannik wasn’t impressed, kept going on about his former job as what he made sound like some kind of data analyst; claimed he made spells for a big company - he wouldn’t specify which - that told them where to open up new places, shut down the ones that weren’t doing well, which products to keep, which to pull, that sort of thing. After some prying from Jorg, we learned he worked for East Methulum Stationery, and in quality assurance, no less. He’d just run simulations all day doing mock data analysis, didn’t even touch the spell construction process.

Thuli, on the other hand, had straight-up stolen a tablet from the embassy in Collihan, been playing with it for years before the King’s analysts decided she’d had her fun. “I was young, fifteen or so. This was before I even knew I was trans,” she explained. “I managed to convince one of the mages to give me a tour. Maybe it was just his pride that got him to do it, I dunno. He showed me all these shiny new tablets, fresh off the conveyor belt, and I couldn’t help myself. It was so small, so easy to hide,” she explained as the waiter brought our food, a concoction of smells that drove me crazy, hungry as I was. I figured I hadn’t eaten in almost a full day. “And yeah, when I realized that you could track where the tablet was and what I was doing on it - playing with fire, literally and metaphorically - I got a bit paranoid. But looking at where I ended up,” she continued, gesturing around her, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Reminds me of how I wound up a philosopher,” Klia noted. “But I won’t get too deep into it; I’m glad you’re happy to be here.”

“Thanks.” Thuli looked down, fiddled with her fork. “A little shaken after what can only be described as kidnapping. And a little nervous about what’s to come, a little conflicted given how mages have a bad rep and how we’re like -”

“I know, I know,” Klia assured her.

“But if I had to point to a dream job, with perks like . . . well, I didn’t have much money growing up, and I’ve wanted to start hormone therapy for a while, but it just hasn’t worked out for me. But - that guy, what’s his name? The guy who showed us around?”

“Ylde?” Iannik tried.

Thuli nodded. “Yeah, Ylde. He said the King would cover the expense.”

Now, for someone like you, transitioning is easy. You schedule an appointment, show up to the palace, and go under once to wake up and find yourself in a new body. There’s no risk, no complications, and you get your pick of what you want to look like. The options are limited, of course, given that a fully functioning human body is, as far as I know, impossible to conjure, despite almost anything else - anything other than a living, breathing animal, that is - being a piece of cake. It’s one of the limitations of magic I feel has never been fully understood.

You’re female to male; Thuli is male to female. She caved a while back and went through the same procedure you did. She’s since suffered some of the same anxieties you’re going through, since it’s understandably a little hard to cope with the thought of what exactly a transition, in this day and age, entails. Of course, you have no more reason to feel guilty than does anyone who benefits from the convenience of magic, but inhabiting such a body when you know where that body’s been, what it’s been used for, is a little more visceral. But I guarantee you: centralized control over magic - and the way we do it here is the most efficient way; and I don’t say that out of pride, but out of extensive research - is preferable to the situation the elves find themselves in, with a bunch of scattered nationstates espousing varying stances on how and when magic should be used and what limitations should be imposed.

But I digress: the conversation went on like that for some time before Klia and Jorg excused themselves after finishing their food and made their way over to the booth to talk alone. “What’s this? Why the secrecy?” Iannik asked, annoyed.

I leaned in. “Ylde says they’re deciding who gets who.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re deciding,” I clarified, “you know, who’s going to be apprenticed to which philosopher. That’s the whole reason we’re here. It’s not just a formality. You heard the shit they were asking, right? They were scoping out our tendencies, abilities, interests.”

“I think Klia likes you,” Thuli said. “You’ve got the dragons, the music; there’s a lot of similarities between you two.”

I glanced down at the dancers, statuesque in their poses. “Maybe on a surface level.”

“I think you two will get along.”

“And who do you think you’ll end up with?” I asked in turn.

She considered for a moment. “I mean, Klia seems to like me. Jorg too. I’m not sure.”

“Oh, I’d like to train with Jorg, no question,” Iannik stated. “I just think Klia seems a little fake, you know? She’s acting, like, pedantic.”

“She’s gotta be a little pedantic, ask these questions and such, though,” Thuli said. “This is our interview process.”

I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the two masters. They were talking, their faces serious but their postures comfortable. Klia had ordered a drink and was lazily stirring it. “I thought our interview process was the shit we pulled before we got here. They chose us ‘cause of what we demonstrated we could do with magic. Thuli, you’re really lucky to be alive right now.”

I turned back to the table and she met my eyes. “Oh, I know. Thought they were gonna kill me for a while. When they showed up at my door, I came voluntarily, but I thought our last stop was the embassy, thought they were gonna put me in a little windowless room and suck the light right out from behind my eyes.”

“Morbid,” Iannik interjected.

“But when we got to the embassy they took me to the roof, put me in this carriage on the back of a dragon. And I think that’s when I knew that I was headed here.”

“Here as in ‘the palace?’” I asked. “Or here as in ‘on your way to becoming a philosopher?’”

Her eyes darted over to the booth where Klia and Jorg sat. “I had a sense that I was still in trouble. Didn’t quite anticipate all this.”

“What about you?” Iannik said, turning to Junae. “You haven’t said a word since we got here; who are you looking to train with? Or who do you think’ll pick you?”

She stared at her lap. “I just don’t wanna be here. I’m surprised any of you do.”

“Look,” Thuli started, leaping to her own defense. “We all hate mages, and we hate the King, and we hate anyone who has more than a million bits in their pocket. Right? But we can’t do anything about that while working our own shitty jobs, doing whatever we did before this. We got lucky, and we’re inside the system now, and that means we’ve got just a little more power. Maybe we can change things.”

“Pretty hollow assessment,” Junae mumbled. “Give you a few years, you’ll be just like them,” she concluded, gesturing over to the two conspirators, who looked like they were finishing their talk. Klia sipped the last of her drink as Jorg stood up. “I’m telling you: they keep your life shitty so the minute they give you anything better, you eat it right up. And when you’re part of a system like this, they train you not to care, they tell you it’s you against the world you came from. Just watch.”

“Pretty broad claims, broad and unfalsifiable,” Iannik noted. “How would you know, anyway?”

Her eyes snapped over to Klia and Jorg, who were now walking back over to our table. “Just wait a few years. You’ll see I’m right.” The two master philosophers made no mention of who would be apprenticed to whom; they just asked if we were ready to go, asked if we wanted to do any sightseeing before heading back to the palace. Thuli and Iannik wanted to see the gardens, but Jorg said that they were better enjoyed during the day. They concluded that they would grab dessert at some overpriced creamery nearby.

“Before we go,” I started, quietly. Klia turned around, eyebrows raised. “You know if there’s a payphone anywhere nearby?”

“Should be. Hmm,” she mused. “I’d ask the staff here first. They might let you use a phone for free.”

I dreaded this next part. “And if not? I mean, I don’t exactly have any money on me, and it’s not like you can ask a payphone to bill the palace. You don’t happen to -”

She laughed it off. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it; the staff here are friendly enough, and should get you what you need. Want us to wait for you?”

“I mean you’re just going right down the street, right?” I asked. “It’s fine if you wanna go; I can catch up to you.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As they all left, I suddenly regretted letting myself be left alone in a place like this. My shirt felt scratchy, the air felt too sanitized. And that goddamn music just kept going. It was set up that way, to be perpetual, and I probably would’ve enjoyed it under other circumstances, but it was overbearing in the moment. I wove through tables, feeling out of place in my palace clothes, feeling like everyone’s eyes were on me.

I managed to catch a waiter carrying an empty tray. “Hey, waiter?” No response. “Waiter, where would I find a phone?”

He swiveled sharply, studied my face with keen eyes. “A payphone?”

I looked down. “Well, I was hoping that maybe -”

“Sorry, they’re not for public use.” He continued on his course, dodging tables with an agility that I couldn’t hope to keep up with, even though I was empty-handed.

“Just one call,” I tried, weakly. “Just one call, that’s it.” It was too late. He was gone. I found my way back to the club’s entrance, accidentally wandering onto a dance floor - no, not the stage, a different one, a public one, where the writhing mass of bodies better reflected the chaos of the music than did the professional dancers, if you ask me - before I rediscovered the entrance.

The cold air hit me hard as I wandered back out to the street, scanning the block on either side of me to find a payphone. There was a row of them just a few paces away, and a group of guys huddling around a radio right next to it. They’d lend me a bit or two, for sure.

“Hey,” I tried. The two closest to me perked up, their faces souring when they saw me. I self-consciously tugged at my tunic. “Hey, gotta make a call and I don’t have any cash on me, got anything to spare?”

“Bullshit,” one of them said, looking me up and down before warming his face with his hands.

“Yeah, I know how I must look, all wrapped up in whatever . . . whatever this is. They dragged me here just today; it’s a bit of a story, yeah -”

“What are you playing at?” he continued, his voice muffled by his hands. His friends whispered behind him; I caught a giggle or two.

“Nothing,” I said, quieter. “Was just hoping to make a call, that’s it.”

I had the attention of all of them now; they were looking at me the way I’d looked at those mages when they came strutting into my math class some years back, but with all the scorn and none of the fear. “What, the King’s treasury run out or something?”

“No, no, I’ve got it,” another one started, pushing his way into my line of sight. “You blew all the money Daddy gave you and now you’ve gotta call him to come pick you up. Right?” I started backing away. “What, gonna walk back to the palace? Where Daddy sucks royal cock all day?”

The whole group exploded in laughter and I just kept backing off. “You know what, it’s fine.” My voice was small. I turned away and started walking at as natural a pace as I could, ignoring their jokes, or what they thought passed as jokes. I decided that I probably couldn’t’ve said anything meaningful to Morji, anyway, if I’d given him a call. I figured that I’d probably burned that bridge when I left a mangled corpse on his doorstep, and that maybe it was for the best that I didn’t hear his voice again, or Celi’s, or Kael’s, or Jol’s, since it’d probably be the last time I’d hear their voices for a while and I wouldn’t want to hear their inevitable shock and disbelief. So I put the idea of making a phone call behind me.